


Song as Old as Rhyme

by fireheart321



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24329950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireheart321/pseuds/fireheart321
Summary: Once upon a time, a girl fell in love with a monster / A Zutara Beauty and the Beast retelling
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 20





	Song as Old as Rhyme

**Author's Note:**

> Bringing this over from my fanfiction account (Mrs Pettyfer). This is my spin of the classic Zutara meets Beauty and the Beast. It will have both canon and AU elements, and the retelling is mostly inspired from the Disney version. I can't promise how quick updates will be, but I'm shooting for 2-3 updates a month.
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters and worldbuilding belongs to their respective creators. No profit is being made; this is just for fun. Please do not re-post elsewhere or claim as your own. Thank you!

Katara stepped back from the poster she had just hung. She was no artist, but over the years her abilities had greatly improved. It looked like Sokka enough—or how she imagined him to look now. Her older brother had been missing for five years, and even though everyone else seemed to think it was a lost cause, she hadn't given up hope.

There were more copies posted through Harbor City, nailed to every wooden surface she could find: doors, beams, notice boards. Although the city was a heavy industrial sector of the Fire Nation with a strong military base, visitors had to pass through it to get to Caldera City—the capital situated in the crater, just north of Harbor City. There was so much traffic, she was bound to catch someone's attention, someone that could point her in the right direction.

Satisfied, Katara turned from the notice board and surveyed the busy square in the soft morning light. Merchants and peddlers were setting up for the market: beads and jewels, silks and furs, spices and vegetables and trinkets and sizzling meat. Market day would bring even more traffic, and if she was lucky, she might get a lead. It had been a very long time since she had anything of substance.

As she had told her dad—and later the authorities—Sokka had said he and two friends were going to the Iron Cauldron, one of the local taverns. None of them returned, and the tavern owner claimed they had not stepped foot in his establishment that night at all. Either he was lying, or Sokka had lied, and neither had settled well with Katara.

Just then, she caught sight of the old woman she had been waiting for. "Ming!" she shouted. "Ming, over here!"

The woman must not of heard her, because she was trying to open her tea shop with brutal efficiency. But Katara was quick. She darted across the square and caught the woman by the elbow as the door swung open.

"Oh, it's you again—I mean," Ming quickly corrected, cheeks flushing, "Katara, I didn't see you."

"That's all right," Katara assured her. "You must have ran out of posters because I noticed yesterday there wasn't any more hanging up. I wanted to make sure you have plenty more." With that, she handed the elder woman a thick stack, each one painted with Sokka's face.

Ming's thin mouth pulled into a tight line. She looked almost in pain. "Oh, you made more. Again. Yes, yes, I will just…" Her voice trailed off helplessly.

"Do you want me to help you put them up?"

"No!" Ming said a bit too quickly. She retreated into the shop, leaving the door cracked between them. "No, dear, do not trouble yourself. I will see to these."

"Oh, I just—

"You have yourself a pleasant day, Katara."

"But—"

The door closed.

Katara scowled. "Thanks to you, too."

Sighing, she left the tea house behind and finished her weekly rounds. After Ming's, it was to the White Jade, a popular inn that garnered the most travelers. After that, the blacksmith—who flat out threw the posters into his fire—the bakery, the dress shop, and the shoe shop. It wasn't until she had just finished pestering a handful of guards—because really, it was their _job_ to observe and watch and report, so who better to spot a missing person?—when she realized she was out of posters.

 _I'll just have to make more next week_ , she thought, turning on a winding street to head home.

When she arrived, she was surprised to find her dad in the kitchen, stirring a pot of sea soup over the open hearth. He looked out of place in the small kitchen, still dressed in his guard uniform. Red suited him far less than the soft blues of the South Pole.

"You're back early today," he said without looking up.

"So are you."

Hakoda grunted in response.

"I smelled your dinner."

He chuckled. "I hope you didn't smell the first batch—I burned it."

"Low and slow, dad. Remember?"

"Well, we both know I am better at hunting food than cooking it. Come taste and see what it needs."

Katara usually did the cooking, but she appreciated when her dad tried. She reached for the wooden ladle, and then spooned a bit of hot broth and brought it to her mouth. She blew a bit of air, cooling it, before tasting. "Not bad," she said, pleasantly surprised. "Needs a bit more salt and some lemon, but I'm impressed, dad."

"Salt and lemon. Got it. Anything else?"

"Maybe a dash of…"

It was then that she noticed the table. Their finest plates and cutlery had been set out. The table was covered in the only tablecloth they had, which was only reserved for holidays—ivory linen, with gold leaves embroidered on the edges. Upon it was a tray of hot komodo chicken, a bowl of steamed rice, and a loaf of golden bread. Most noticeable, the table was set for three rather than two.

For a moment, Katara's heart leapt. The table hadn't been set for three in a long, long time. But of course it couldn't be for Sokka—her dad would have told her immediately. "Are we expecting someone?" she asked.

"Oh, we have a guest," Hakoda answered casually. Too casually. In fact, now that Katara took notice, their small home looked tidier than it had this morning. And her dad cooked so rarely, usually when he was trying to cheer Katara up—or when he wanted to blunt the hard edge of bad news.

She crossed her arms. "Someone I know?"

He made a noncommittal sort of sound, but did not answer.

"Who is it?" she pried.

"Have you seen the salt?" he asked, looking around aimlessly. "I could have sworn…"

It was on the counter, in plain eyesight. Only a very distracted person wouldn't see it.

"Dad, tell me who's coming."

Hakoda sighed. Then he turned to face Katara, knowing better than to continue a game he would not win. He was a handsome man, with a neatly trimmed beard and chin-length brown hair accented with blue beads—a style from the Southern Water Tribe that he had not abandoned. But the past few years had ingrained worry and loss into the lines of his face.

"The Fire Lord," he said quietly. "The Fire Lord is coming."

Katara stared at him. It took her a long moment to recover. "The—The Fire Lord" she stammered. "Here? Why?"

They had been here for years and she had only seen the Fire Lord a handful of times—all glimpses from far away as he visited the city.

"The Fire Lord is not obligated to provide a reason, Katara." Hakoda did not bother to hide his distaste for the sentiment. "He will be here soon. You might want to…" He gestured at her wordlessly.

Katara looked down. She was wearing very traditional Fire Nation clothes. Short loose pants under a red skirt, with a tight red top that exposed her mid-drift, and plain sandals. Practical, comfortable in the humid weather, but perhaps not appropriate for dinner with the Fire Lord.

She did not have a formal, fancy gown—never had the need to. But she had a simple, dark red gown embroidered with gold she sometimes wore more like a cloak, so she threw that over her clothes and tried to fix her long hair. Her dad always said she looked like her mother. More than once, he had called her Kya by mistake.

Katara took one final look at the mirror, then she went to help her dad finish setting the table. She had just laid down a pair of chopsticks when she said, "Dad, do you think I'm a lost cause?"

"What?" He looked up in alarm, nearly dropping the teacup in his hand. "Who said that?"

"No one. Everyone." She shrugged. "They all think I'm wasting my time with Sokka."

"Since when do you care what everyone else thinks?"

She smiled at that. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but his words were silenced by the rapt knocks from the front door.

Katara finished folding the final napkin and then followed after her dad. His face was a bit tense, his eyes filled with worry. He looked her over a final time, nodded once in approval, then he opened the door.

"Fire Lord," Hakoda greeted, offering the traditional Fire Nation bow of respect—forming a fist and flame with his hands. Katara echoed his gesture. "We are honored by your visit. Won't you come in?"

"I would be delighted," the Fire Lord answered. "How wonderful it smells. And this is…?"

"This is my daughter, Katara."

"Ah, Katara." At the Fire Lord's commanding tone, she straightened and met his gaze.

The Fire Lord was a tall man with exceptionally thick brown sideburns. Part of his hair was pulled up in a topknot by a gleaming, five-pronged crown of gold. He wore what looked like armor built more for comfort than battle, layers of maroon and crimson and black trimmed with gold. Apart from the crown, he looked like a perfectly groomed nobleman.

Katara cleared her throat and said, "Welcome to our home." Home was an overstatement. It was probably the size of a broom closet in the royal palace.

The Fire Lord bowed his head in greeting and stepped inside, leaving the two guards wearing full-face helmets and elite armor outside. They stood on either side of the door, monitoring the streets. Katara did not doubt there was more she could not see. She closed the door gently.

"It was so generous of you to accept my intrusion on such short notice," the Fire Lord drawled. There was an underlying, arrogant swagger to his voice. He sounded more like a polished spokesman than a fearless leader.

Hakoda lead them to their small table. "It is no intrusion at all," he said, because it was true. The Fire Lord did not _intrude_ —he needed no invitation to go where he pleased.

"Komodo chicken, my favorite," he said, taking a seat.

Katara felt a spike of panic—was she meant to serve him? Do Fire Lord's serve themselves, or do they have servants for that? Not that she thought herself a servant, and the idea of serving anyone like that was enough to make her mouth thin, but—

She was relieved when he began spooning chicken onto his plate. But she was not without manners and hospitality, so she poured everyone a hot cup of Jasmine tea before taking her seat. Hakoda was already settled, filling his plate and doing his best not to look uncomfortable.

Her dad and the Fire Lord fell into polite conversation, most of which Katara tuned out. She was too focused on trying to figure out why he was here. She was so distracted that she missed her name being called, and only realized it when she felt their eyes on her.

"Sorry," she said, lowering her chopsticks. "Did you ask me something?"

Hakoda shot her a look of warning. "The Fire Lord asked how you were faring in the Fire Nation."

"Oh." She blinked in surprise. "I…this is what I know now. I remember very little of the South Pole."

She remembered the cold, and mounds of snow, and stories told around fires. She remembered kind eyes and soft hands—her mother.

The Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom had been in a power struggle for decades, with everyone else collateral damage. When the Earth Kingdom attacked the South Pole, the Fire Nation had graciously taken in the members of the Southern Water Tribe. Hakoda had joined the military and was posted as a city guard here in Harbor City.

He was looking at her sadly, but the Fire Lord said, "You must have been very young."

"Six," she confirmed.

"Six," he echoed with a drawl. "Just a child. But you are not a child now. You would be…nineteen, I think." His eyes flicked to her bare throat. "Nineteen and unbetrothed. Is that typical in your culture?"

"Our culture was destroyed by a war we wanted no part of," Hakoda said quietly.

Katara blinked in surprise. Even the Fire Lord looked taken aback.

"Forgive me," Hakoda said quickly, bowing his head. "I spoke out of turn. At times it has been…I apologize."

"No need for that." The Fire Lord leaned back, appraising Hakoda with a measuring eye. Seeing him differently. "I admire a man who speaks his mind. I imagine it runs in the family." His eyes shone as they glanced at Katara. "Are you a Waterbender, Katara?"

"I am." _Not a very good one_ , she did not add. _Not yet._

"A good cook and a bender. You will make a fine wife and healer."

She frowned. "I don't want to be a healer."

"No? What else would you be?" Before she could formulate a response—which admittedly, she was struggling to do—he rose to his feet. "Thank you for the meal, but I must return to the palace."

Hakoda and Katara stood as well. It occurred to her then that she still had no idea why he had come.

Her dad seemed to think the same, for he had a slightly baffled expression on his face as he escorted the Fire Lord out. But then the Fire Lord paused, angling his head over his shoulder. "I believe your brother went missing some years ago, did he not?"

Hakoda halted; Katara nearly stumbled into him. "Yes," he said slowly. "My son Sokka, he—"

"Perhaps we can discuss it over tea tomorrow afternoon, Lady Katara."

Lady? She was many things, but certainly no lady. She was so hung up on that word that at first she missed what he said.

"I—what?"

"Tea." The Fire Lord turned and faced her fully, crossing his arms behind his back. "Tomorrow afternoon."

She still did not understand. "With—with who?"

His thin mouth formed a smirk, one so perfect he no doubt spent years perfecting it. "With me, of course."

"Why?" she blurted. He was the Fire Lord. He had more important things to worry about than missing brothers.

Hakoda had gone white as a sheet. But then he stiffened, his jaw clenching and mouth hardening. Angry. Her dad was angry.

If the Fire Lord noticed, he did not care. And why should he? He was the most powerful man in the Fire Nation—maybe even the entire world.

Fire Lord Zhao just smiled like a satisfied cat, and then he laughed. "You are a funny girl, Katara. A beauty, but a funny girl."


End file.
